Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Hey everyone, and thank you for the great reviews! I'm really glad you liked that chapter with Snape trying to come to terms with the fact that he can't be a spy anymore. The road ahead for him is going to be very difficult, but I'm very much looking forward to how he changes.

One of my reviewers said I should make the chapters longer. Honestly, when I write a chapter, I don't try to make it a certain length. It just turns out that quite a few of them end up being about the same length, but I don't make it that way on purpose. I just write until I think I've reached a good stopping point. To do anything else wouldn't feel natural to me. Plus, if I made chapters longer, it would be more of a wait between updates. I know what it's like to be reading a fic and want to know what happens next, so I completely get it. I honestly try to update as frequently as I can.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Draco slowly came back to consciousness, and the first thing he realized was that he wasn't in his bed. Following this realization, the smell hit him. It hadn't been very long ago that he'd smelled the sterile scent of this room.

Oh, bloody hell. Draco was back in the hospital wing. Merlin, he despised this place. There had only been that one time last year when he'd used it to his advantage. On that occasion, he couldn't let show how much he truly despised being here. But why was he here now?

It took Draco several seconds for memory to come roaring back, and when it did, Draco felt himself break out in a cold sweat. The trial. He and Potter had been meant to testify. But the Dementors ... Merlin ... that ice-cold sensation of fear crawling up his throat, the disgusting rattling sound of the creatures' breath, the raw ache in his heart as a memory of his father towering over him shoved its way into his consciousness. "I have never been more ashamed of you, Draco. Beaten by a Mudblood. That is completely unacceptable."

But then, there had been the Patronus. Draco had only ever seen one once before, and that brought up a very unpleasant memory. Last year, when he and the Slytherin Quidditch team had dressed as Dementors to fool Potter, the boy had conjured one. Fear had plunged into Draco at the sight of it. Why was it that every single damned time, Potter seemed to have the upper hand?

The creature had almost been fully formed, but Draco had been in such shock that he couldn't have sussed out what the animal form was at the time. All he knew was that Potter hadn't done what he was so sure he'd do - he hadn't fallen pathetically off his broom and fainted dead away. Draco had been so bloody sick and tired of Potter one-upping him at every turn that he'd wanted nothing more than to see him do something that was worthy of mockery. The fact that the boy fell apart at just the sight of a Dementor showed a sign of incredible weakness that Draco could pounce upon.

But now, as Draco remembered the feeling of drowning in fear and hurt and shame - Merlin, he didn't want to think about how those Dementors in the Ministry atrium had made him feel, but he couldn't stop the endless barrage of thoughts from swimming through his mind. It brought out a sense of terror in him that he'd never quite felt before.

And Potter ... the sight of his wand falling from his hand, the recollection of him collapsing to the ground as the scaly, scabby form of the Dementor bent over him, ready to take his soul forever ... that memory was not bringing up any feelings of amusement or triumph in Draco. A familiar taunt came to his mind - poor little Potty. Can't handle a Dementor without losing your marbles. What a shame.

But even as the words entered his mind, they made him feel sick. They sat wrongly in his head now, when only a few months ago he would have been more than happy to say them. He'd have wanted to see the anger light up Potter's face. He'd have egged him further, wanting to see how far he could push before Potter broke. He'd wanted to see those emerald eyes lose that stubborn light they always held. He'd wanted Potter to break.

And now, Draco was shivering just at the thought of that foul creature. The fear that had filled his entire being at the memories it invoked made him shudder anew.

"Draco."

That voice. That silky baritone that Draco had been hearing his entire life, from his very earliest memories. A man that Draco had once felt close to, but this year, he felt inexplicably far away from.

Severus Snape was sitting on a chair by Draco's bedside. If he'd been in any mood to scoff, he would have done so. Had the man been waiting for him to wake up like some sort of insipid fool? Was bloody Pansy finally over her snit, and had she taken Polyjuice Potion to look like Snape?

"Draco, I know you're awake." Snape's quiet voice came again. "How are you feeling?"

"EXPECTO PATRONUM." The roar of Snape's voice filtered through Draco's mind, and he remembered the silver doe. The sight had him completely mesmerized.

He'd had absolutely no idea that Snape knew how to cast a Patronus. Well, count that among the many things he didn't know about the Potions Master. The man had always been mysterious for as long as Draco could remember. But the one thing he'd always been able to count on was that the man had always been on his side. He'd supported the right cause in the war, after all, and knew that the Dark Lord had the correct idea about things.

Something his father had said the year before broke through his consciousness, and Draco's breath caught as the memory hit him full-force. He had been severely punished by Lucius for the Dementor stunt he and the Quidditch team had pulled. The man had sneered down at him, his face full of derision. "These childish games must cease, Draco." The boy had felt his gut clench at the cold glower that suffused his face. "You are giving that fool Dumbledore the power to expel you. Your behavior lately has been truly abominable."

Draco had done the worst thing he could have in that situation - he'd gone and gotten defensive. "How was I supposed to know that Potter wouldn't fall and break his skull?" he'd snarled. "It's so unfair! Who taught him how to cast that thing?"

Lucius's snarl back at his son was even more vicious. "You, Draco, are nothing more than a stupid child who is underestimating your enemy. Once you start actually living in the real world, you will come to find that there are much more important things than your juvenile little rivalries." His eyes darkened. "What you are doing, Draco, is giving Potter the tools to defeat you. Your subtlety ... leaves much to be desired," he sneered, smirking nastily.

Draco felt horrible. "But that ... that animal that came out of Potter's wand ..." he persisted weakly.

"Only fools need those to survive, Draco. We have things much stronger on our side. Wizards like us do not need silly little animals to keep us guarded." His smirk widened. "You do not need to worry about Dementors. They are our natural allies."

Even then, Draco had felt a whisper of unease. It was disconcerting, because he had always believed everything his father said. But he remembered the stories of prisoners who had been caught and given the Dementor's Kiss. They had performed many a spell in their lives which was considered dark by most of society. If the Dementors were supposedly their allies, then why did they kiss them? Why were those people without a soul now?

But Draco had known better than to question his father. He'd been in enough trouble as it was. The way Lucius was looking down at him made his entire body feel frozen.

And now, all these months later, he'd seen Snape cast a Patronus. And he had been a Death Eater during the war and would be one again if the Dark Lord returned, right? Then why the bloody hell did he know how to cast one? Had his father been lying to him that no Death Eater needed to learn how to do it?

Or is Snape not who he says he is?

Draco didn't know where that thought had come from, but there had been times in his life when something Snape said or did hit him in a strange way. He was always so careful, so cautious. It was like he always knew the absolute correct words to say. He always did things with a certain precision that struck Draco as very odd at times. He'd noticed, too, that though Lucius maintained a friendly demeanor around the other man, he was extremely guarded, as though he didn't trust Snape fully.

And then, there had been the Death Eater trials at the end of the war. Draco had done his research - he knew more than his parents even knew he did. He knew that Dumbledore had vouched for Snape and told the Wizengamot that he had been his spy. At the time Draco had discovered it, he'd felt pride blossom inside him for his father's friend. He'd surmised that that was what his mysterious air was about - he'd been able to fool the Headmaster into thinking he'd worked for him.

The prospect had been laughable. Snape secretly liking Harry Potter? Snape wanting the Dark Lord destroyed? Snape having any actual regard for Albus Dumbledore? The man really must be a sentimental old fool if he actually believed Snape didn't think that all Mudbloods should be wiped out and that the Dark Lord wanted to purify the wizarding world and make it how it should be.

And Draco had seen that Snape's utter loathing of Potter was no act. He did not act mysteriously around the boy at all. For three years, Draco had watched as Snape had taken every opportunity to sneer at him in class. He'd deducted points for the slightest little thing, and Pansy had once said to Draco, smirking, "Tomorrow, I bet he'll take points from Potter for breathing."

"Yeah," Draco had smirked back. "He's the only teacher in this bloody school who has the measure of him. He's the only one who doesn't think the sun rises and sets on Potter's arse."

But then, there had been this year. Draco had thought it rather odd when Snape, instead of insulting Potter, had started ignoring him. He didn't understand the new tactic at all. Well, he'd reasoned, maybe Dumbledore had brought him to heel. Maybe Potter had been a little tattletale and told the old man how oh-so-mean Snape was being to him. What a baby. And whatever Dumbledore's pet wanted, he got, right? Better put a stop to Snape's behavior if it made the stupid little simpleton happy.

"Draco."

Again, that voice spoke. Draco's thoughts were a jumble of confusion and fear and pain and dread and unanswered questions. His mind tried to process every thought that came into it, but he couldn't.

"Please, Draco. Say something." Snape sounded worried and the boy couldn't bear it.

Draco's heart was racing when he finally spoke, the doubt and uncertainty clogging his throat. "I would have thought you'd want to sit by Potter's bed instead." He'd wanted his words to come out as a sneer, but instead they came out weak and childish. He was disgusted with himself. Shame joined the many emotions crowding his brain at his own feebleness.

"Draco." Snape's voice was calm, but Draco could hear the strain in it - the man was struggling to remain patient.

"Go away." Once again, Draco sounded like a little boy. Maybe he should just stop talking.

"I know you have questions, Draco. If you do not wish to ask them now, I understand."

If there was one thing Draco had always despised about Snape no matter how close he'd felt to him once, it was the feeling of being condescended to. Snape always talked to him like this - apparently he understood absolutely everything about the world and Draco understood nothing, and therefore, he must have someone much higher on the food chain to deign to explain the big wide world to him. "I know you have questions, Draco." The words spoke of knowing Draco's every thought and they rankled deep.

"Stop talking to me like that! I'm not five years old!" Draco had once bellowed at him when he was spoken to in this manner. He'd balled his hands into fists as anger had flowed through him.

And Snape had just sat there, not letting Draco's outburst affect him in the slightest. He'd sighed in a long-suffering manner that lit up every nerve in Draco's body.

And now, this confrontation was exactly the same. "I don't have any bloody questions," he drawled, trying desperately to speak with his usual manner, like none of this mattered at all. Like he wasn't thoroughly shaken by everything that had happened this morning.

"So be it, then." Snape nodded. "The trial has been postponed until further notice. The Ministry is, no doubt, attempting to decipher what occurred."

Snape's rational, even tone only intensified all the emotions that were crawling through Draco's system. "Why?" The word suddenly burst out of him. He'd said he had no questions - none that he wanted to ask Snape, anyway. But this one burst out of him before he could stop it. "Why did you betray the Dark Lord?" The last few words were a whisper.

Because somehow, in the last few seconds, the truth had become clear to Draco. There was no other explanation that fit the puzzle that was Severus Snape. Another sudden bolt of memory flashed through his mind - when Lucius had seen him right after the Dementor attack, there was something ... haunting about the way he'd looked at Snape. There was something in his gray eyes that had struck a chord in Draco, despite the fact that he was shaky and weak and nauseous from the effects of the Dementors.

Draco stared at Snape, waiting for his answer. Maybe he'd deny it. Maybe he'd spin a tale of why, exactly, he didn't do any such thing and that he was still the man Draco had known his entire life. Maybe he'd say that Draco was being ludicrous and how dare he accuse him of such a thing. Treason was a very, very serious accusation in the eyes of the Dark Lord, resulting in a very painful execution. Despite Narcissa's insistence that Draco not know such things on account of his age, Lucius had deliberately gone against her wishes and told Draco, in lurid detail, exactly what would happen to people who double-crossed the Dark Lord. He'd sneered at the fear that Draco had desperately tried to hold back at these revelations.

"Because," Snape said quietly, "I made a terrible choice when I was seventeen years old, Draco."

Breathing became difficult for Draco as he processed the words. Snape hadn't denied it. Snape hadn't chewed Draco out for saying something so bold. Snape hadn't said that Draco was an idiot to come to such an insane conclusion. Instead, he'd answered Draco's question, and it shocked him to his core.

"But you ... but I ... but I thought ..." Draco spluttered, his mind in freefall. "But ... how can you ... but you've always hated Potter and insulted Dumbledore!"

In the next second, Draco wanted to curse himself for saying those words. But they were true and Draco had so many memories to back them up. Snape had looked at Potter like he was nothing more than an insect that needed to be stamped out. He'd spoken of Dumbledore with such coldness and fury and hate in his voice. How could he ... how could he ...

"It is a very complicated situation, Draco." Snape's voice was that low, smooth drawl that Draco was so accustomed to. "How I feel about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore is not currently up for discussion."

"But ... but I don't understand!" Draco shouted, forgetting that he was in the hospital wing. "You ... you ..."

Suddenly, he was hit with a realization that struck him squarely in the stomach. "I thought you must have saved Potter from that poison because you wanted him to be brought to the Dark Lord at the right time," he whispered. "But I was wrong, wasn't I? You didn't save Potter because of that at all. That whole plan of getting me and Potter to work together - you had an ulterior motive, didn't you? You didn't want me to bring him to the Dark Lord."

Snape didn't answer, and that was confirmation enough. In a voice he barely recognized, Draco whispered, "Who are you?"

Snape's expression was ... strange when he stared back at Draco - it was almost ... sad. "I am someone who does not wish for you to make my mistakes, Draco."

In all the years Draco Malfoy had known Severus Snape, he'd never, ever heard him speak with so much hidden emotion in his voice before. He knew his eyes had gone wide, but couldn't help that fact.

"But Father says ..." The familiar words were on the tip of his tongue, but Draco didn't say them. Years of being taught how great the Dark Lord was echoed through his mind. Muggles and Mudbloods were scum. Potter needed to lose that life in his emerald eyes forever. The purebloods would rule supreme, and their ways of life would never be questioned by people who were in all ways inferior to them.

Snape seemed to know exactly what Draco was thinking, and he got the sense that he wasn't even using Legilimency right now - apparently, Draco was that transparent. "Your father, Draco, is only human. And not all sons should aspire to be like their fathers." There was a bitterness in Snape's voice that spoke of deep wounds.

It was so familiar to be furious whenever Lucius was insulted. "My father is a great man," Draco whispered. His head was beginning to pound, and sickness roiled through him. And I'm going to tell him what you've done, was his next thought, but before he could say it out loud, he realized that Lucius already knew.

Snape simply shook his head. "You do not look well, Draco," he said quietly. "I think a headache potion is in order, as well as something to settle your stomach."

Draco's world was spinning. He felt like he did the day he'd duelled with the Weasel in the boys' bathroom. He took deep breaths, trying to dispel the terrible feelings that bombarded him. He didn't say another word, for if he made one more sound, he was afraid that he would lose what little he had eaten that morning.

Snape left his side for several seconds, and returned promptly with two potions. "You need to rest, Draco." His voice sounded as though it was coming through a tunnel. "There is a lot you must think about."

But Draco couldn't think. His brain was shutting down as his head pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Merlin, his hands were bloody shaking again. Everything was blurring before him. "Why should I accept anything from you?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Because I care about you, Draco." The words were simple, sending another ripple of shock through Draco. That was something that Snape had never said to him before.

But Draco couldn't - wouldn't - believe it. "No, you don't. You're a traitor." Once again, the words sounded more petulant and childish than angry.

Snape seemed to agree - he took no offense. "Yes." He continued to hold out the potions to Draco. "I confess to have betrayed the Dark Lord. I have a lot of regrets in my life, Draco. Too many to count. And betraying the Dark Lord might be the only thing I don't regret at all." Snape looked directly into Draco's eyes, and the boy felt completely undone by the stare. "I think that one day, you will understand," he said quietly.

The pain in Draco's head reached a crescendo, and he continued to breathe deeply, trying to force his food to remain in his stomach. Snape stood there, unmoving, waiting for Draco to accept what the man was offering.

And there came a point when he couldn't resist any longer. Grabbing the two potions, he gulped them down. Instantly, the pain in his head receded, and his stomach began to settle.

"Now rest, Draco." Snape gave him one last glance before turning to walk away. "I shall return later."

Pure and utter exhaustion rolled over Draco as Snape disappeared from his line of sight. Closing his eyes, he lay back in the bed, the sterile smell of the hospital wing invading his senses. He focused on it, because he couldn't afford to think anymore.

Everything was crashing down upon him. Potter's face ... Lucius's sneer ... Snape's words - "I care about you, Draco. ... Not all sons should aspire to be like their fathers. ... I am someone who does not wish for you to make my mistakes, Draco ..."

It was too much. It was just too much. Draco clenched his hands in the bedsheets as tears came to his eyes. His father's face swam into his mind again, the sharpness of his tongue brutal whenever his son showed any sign of weakness in front of him.

But Lucius Malfoy wasn't here, and Draco had never felt so torn apart and confused. Despite the shame he felt, he gave in to his emotions and let the sobs consume him.